Frailty
by Mrs. James Norrington
Summary: It occurs to him for the first time how terribly, exquisitely fragile she is… Elisabeth/Death.


**Frailty  
**By Mrs. James Norrington

Pairing: Elisabeth/Death  
Point of View: Death  
Universe: _Elisabeth, das Musical_, based on the Essen Cast with strong influences from the Dutch Cast

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**Dedication: **To Corvus Corone, my one and only reviewer on "Silk". Thank you so much! :-D I promise...that Death/Rudolf is coming! Eventually...

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**Part I: Exquisite**

Any other woman on Earth would smile with self-admiration upon seeing such a reflection. Elisabeth, however, purses her lips critically, a faint frown line appearing between her brows. She turns a little to the side, eyes fixed upon her equally dissatisfied mirror image. Her hands frame her waist, seeming to take some sort of measurement. Observing her—as is now his habit—from the shadows, he wonders idly if she is disappointed that her palms do not meet.

She is so absorbed in her examination that she does not notice him moving closer until he is standing directly behind her, until his hands drift over hers. She looks up sharply, her eyes meeting the reflection of his. Her hands jerk abruptly away, allowing his palms to fall, quite naturally, on her waist. How very convenient.

She raises her chin a little, still glaring at his reflection, but does not speak. Nor does she pull away. He studies the mirror image of her lips, kissing them with his eyes, running his tongue over them, between them...

She must sense his thoughts. He can hear her heartbeat quicken. Her lips part—for him...and in his mind, he deepens the kiss further, tasting, for one sublime instant, her mouth beneath his, surrendering to him...her body beneath his...her skin beneath his hands, beneath his lips...

He adjusts his grip a little, his fingers crushing the fabric of her dress, and the soft gasp that she bites back sends a jolt of electricity through him…She is lovely, breathtakingly lovely, and so warm under his hands…He is near enough to catch the scent of her hair, and he brushes his lips against it…so soft…intoxicating…

"Exquisite," he breathes, his eyes trailing hungrily over her reflection, and the syllables stir her hair ever so slightly.

"Not quite," Elisabeth responds coolly, reaching back and shoving his hands away.

He clenches his teeth on a desperate groan, digging his fingernails into his palms. He has never thought himself capable of experiencing pain, but it would appear, most unconvenietly, that desire manifests itself as a physical ache. He responds calmly, nevertheless.

"Mmm…Perhaps not. One more centimeter off of that lovely waistline and you would have no choice about accepting my offer."

With a noise of annoyance, she spins on her heel and walks abruptly away from him—away from the truth of the statement. It seems to him that she does not know precisely where she is going, simply _away_. He follows.

"You have not eaten in two days, yet you plan to go out riding this afternoon…Really, Elisabeth, if you have a death wish, you know that you needn't make things so complicated for yourself."

"I would hardly call the pursuit of beauty a death wish." Her tone has effectively sunk from cool to cold within mere instants. He is impressed in spite of himself. "I plan to live for some time yet." A clear dismissal. She does not look at him.

Scalded by a sudden surge of irritation, he grabs her shoulders, spinning her to face him, allowing her no time to react. He maneuvers her several rapid steps backward, trapping her against a wall. Her breathing has quickened again. She presses herself as far back as is possible within the limited amount of space he has left her.

"Has it ever occurred to you," he says quietly, certain that he has her attention at last, "that I have shown remarkable patience with you…that…at any time…my patience might...run out…" He catches her chin in one hand and trails his thumb over her lips. She turns her face away from him and he jerks it sharply back, determined to make her look at him, for once _look_ at him…

"I could kiss you," he murmurs. "There would be no choice. There would be no sending me away, like one of your petty courtiers. It would be so…simple."

"Then why don't you?" she hisses, and there is no fear in her eyes, only icy pride.

"Yes. Why don't I?"

She has no reply to that. She presses her eyes closed as he leans closer, letting his breath play over her lips.

"Because I want all of you," he whispers, answering his own question, dropping his lips to her jaw line, kissing her lightly there. He tilts her chin upward, nipping at the sliver of exposed neck, wondering why on Earth she has insisted on high collars lately. Her hands shove at his at his chest, and the temptation of overpowering her flits briefly through his mind. The Empress of Austria is surprisingly strong for a woman of her size, but even so…

He lets her go reluctantly.

She is glowering at him, body tense, eyes blazing.

He lets out a low growl of frustration. "My beautiful, infuriating Elisabeth…"

"I am not yours."

"Not yet."

"Never, _never_ do that again." Her hands clench at her skirt. He notes with surprise that she is shaking. But, of course, she knows her position…She does not resist him as she used to. She cannot.

He reaches out and draws her into a careful embrace, ignoring her noise of protest.

"Shh," he whispers against her hair. "I'm sorry."

She laughs contemptuously into his chest. "No you're not."

"Very well…I'm not. But I thought I ought to make the gesture." He cannot remember the last time he made her smile.

But she does smile faintly up at him, and he feels a peculiar rush of relief.

He realizes that she is laughing, as well…laughing quietly as though her heart will break.

It occurs to him for the first time how terribly, exquisitely fragile she is…more slender than a thought…so delicate…brittle. He holds her in his arms as if she is a glass figurine already beginning to crack, and he is frightened to shatter her completely.

Her breathing is shallow, irregular. He feels her stiffen a little, and she pulls away from him again, abruptly, then stumbles backward a few more steps, pressing her fingertips to her temples as if to steady herself.

"It will pass," she murmurs, shutting her eyes as if she can fix things that way. "I have simply been…too much..."

She ignores the arm he offers, even as she sinks to the ground before him, her skirts pooling around her. "I am simply a bit faint…a bit ill. It comes and goes…"

She is speaking purely for the sake of speaking now. She should know that he is better aware of the state of her health than anyone.

"It will pass…" she whispers firmly, the words becoming a soft litany. "It will pass…It will pass..."

She must find it disagreeable to be at his feet when she is so lightheaded. He kneels and lifts her into his arms instead. She seems much lighter than the little girl he carried so many years ago. He barely feels her weight.

"I am able to walk," she says dryly. He does not debate it; he has seen her ride for miles on even less than she has bothered to eat this week...but, then again, why should she walk when he can carry her?

"Mmm…That's not the point, is it?"

She does not answer, letting her head fall against his shoulder with a sigh and twining her arms around his neck. He is loath to release her when he reaches her bed, and he stands there for a few heartbeats, cradling her against his chest, looking down at her, seeing, for an instant, the spirited child she had once been.

He lays her down with care, and she smiles briefly at him, as if she, too, is remembering that child.

He caresses her face and she begins to sit up, to speak, but he places his fingertips over her mouth and lies down slowly beside her, just near enough to touch her. Holding her gaze, he catches her hand and brings it deliberately to his lips, not quite kissing it. He touches her face again and she closes her eyes, letting him stroke her cheek. He does so cautiously, dreading the moment when she will regain her senses enough to send him away.

That moment shows signs of taking a while to arrive. Shifting closer to him, she buries her face in the place where his neck meets his collar, allowing his arms to slip tentatively around her. Perhaps she is imaging someone else—the husband she no longer sees, the family that is so far away.

And then, in a muffled voice, she begins to tell him everything that is wrong, everything that she fears. Yes, she must be imagining someone else. He strokes her hair softly, still holding her, only half-listening because he knows all of it already. Looking down at her, he thinks of all the human lovers who share kisses without a thought, without a care...How he hates them all.

After several minutes, she pulls back slightly, looking up at his face. He does not notice until he hears the tone of her voice change. "What are you thinking?"

"Hmm?"

She brushes away a piece of hair that has fallen over his forehead. "You're thinking of something. What is it?"

He grins in spite of himself. "You."

"That is hardly an answer." It is certain now that she has recovered herself. Or, perhaps, she has not quite recovered yet...A small smile tugs at her lips. Her lips...

"I should not wish to be an ordinary man, Elisabeth."

"I would not love you if you were."

He can say with certainty that he has never, in all his centuries of existence, felt such surprise. He cannot speak, cannot think... "Do...you...?" he manages, feeling, for the first time in centuries, like a stammering idiot.

Anger—presumably at her own hasty words—flits across her face, but as she notices the effect they have had on him, her self-reproach turns to amusement. The little smile has returned.

He has never imagined that he would be so grateful to feel like a stammering idiot.

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**Note: **Wow, I think this is going to be two chapters! I had a different ending, but I wanted to switch to Elisabeth's POV, and I suppose I'd better do that in a separate chapter. This mostly came out of an article I was reading about the historical Elisabeth and her health problems, along with my original notes on "Silk", which initially had the story in Death's point of view. Some of the lines kept nagging at me…and so I wrote this little fic…I didn't expect that fluffy stuff to find its way in there, but it did...Horribly incongruous with the rest of it, I know!!


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